


Boiled Custard

by hesterbyrde



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Christmas, Christmas fic, M/M, No Spoilers, alcohol use, early season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 11:03:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8977030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesterbyrde/pseuds/hesterbyrde
Summary: As Will spent the last few minutes of his therapy session pacing about Dr. Lecter's office, he noticed a list peeking out of a folder on the psychiatrist's desk. He pulled it free to reveal a detailed menu in the doctor's scrolling, almost lithographic cursive."Planning another dinner party?" He asked."Christmas dinner to be precise." Hannibal confirmed. "Tomorrow night. I was hoping you would join me."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings all! Merry Swagmas!
> 
> This is just a little drabbly thing I wrote to go in my Fannibal Christmas cards this year. The boiled custard is not people, but everything else probably is.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The weather outside was still trying to decide if Christmas would be merry and bright, or dismal and gray. The clouds had spent the whole day spitting down the full spectrum of winter precipitation from rain, to sleet, to clumps of heavy, wet snow. And everything seemed to drip and shiver in the windless downpour.

As Will spent the last few minutes of his therapy session pacing about Dr. Lecter's office, he noticed a list peeking out of a folder on the psychiatrist's desk. He pulled it free to reveal a detailed menu in the doctor's scrolling, almost lithographic cursive.

"Planning another dinner party?" He asked.

"Christmas dinner to be precise." Hannibal confirmed. "Tomorrow night. I was hoping you would join me."

"And who else will be there?" Will replied with an arch of his eyebrow.

"Just Dr. Bloom and perhaps Abigail." he answered. "We thought a little quiet seasonal frivolity and normalcy would do her some good."

"Pretty sure "canapes of shredded lamb heart" are not considered normal for Christmas dinner anywhere on the planet." Will snorted as he frowned at the paper. "Nor are artichoke hearts stuffed with turkey and chestnuts or… whatever a "terrine" is supposed to be."

"It's a layered meat dish, typically served cold." Hannibal replied stiffly. "But I suppose you're right. Perhaps I should add a few choices that might more closely mimic traditional Christmas fare. Tell me Will, what did you have for Christmas dinner when you were a child?"

"Cheeseburgers." Will answered, averting his eyes and replacing the menu in the folder. "Maybe steak if work was steady. When we lived in New Orleans, it was usually still warm enough to grill out on Christmas Eve."

"Christmas is a time for breaking out the best."

"The best for us was any sort of red meat. The rest of the year we nearly always just ate what we could catch… be it with fishing rod or can opener."

Hannibal nodded.

"Sorry… I didn't mean to disparage your plans. It sounds really good, actually. Traditional or not."

"You'll come then?" Hannibal asked, standing a little straighter.

Will nodded, pulling the menu back out again. "On one condition."

"What's that?"

"Instead of having eggnog, I'm bringing homemade boiled custard." Will said matter-of-factly.

It was Hannibal's turn to frown. "What is boiled custard? You mean like crème anglaise?"

"No, and it's better than eggnog and probably better than whatever the hell crème anglaise is." Will replied, feeling a smile creeping over his lips at the fact that he managed to actually catch Hannibal off guard. "You'll like it. I promise. And so will Abigail and Alana. It's not fancy, but it's down to earth. If you're wanting to give Abigail some semblance of a normal Christmas, this is the stuff."

Hannibal sighed and straightened his waistcoat. Will couldn't decide if it was a gesture of indignance or a need for a distraction. "Very well. I accept your bargain. Dinner is served promptly at 7 o'clock."

"I won't be late, I promise." Will confirmed, as he gathered his coat. "But I don't promise my crock pot will match your kitchen."

***

After the Alana and Abigail had left for the evening, Hannibal and Will set to polishing off the boiled custard. Hannibal hummed his approval after a draught of his third mug.

"Good isn't it?" Will asked, eyes sparkling in the firelight. "Told you it would be."

"I must say I'm won over by your recipe." Hannibal assented. "And excellent technique. But what's the difference between this and eggnog? Cooking time?"

"That and it's just less fussy." Will shrugged. "And the quality of the liquor I chose is vastly inferior to what you would use for anything other than cleaning rust off a car bumper. And even then, probably not your Bentley."

An amused smile curled the corner of Hannibal's mouth as he looked down into his mug. "So what did you spike it with?" 

"Spiced rum. Captain Morgan."

Hannibal couldn't repress a disapproving wrinkle of his nose which made Will laugh. But nonetheless he took another sip.

"Why? What were you planning to put in your eggnog, Hannibal?"

"Armagnac." He answered, before taking another drink. "Aged twelve years in black oak barrels."

"Bet it costs a fortune. Shouldn't waste it on eggnog."

"I have a whole case in the cellar. And it's hardly the oldest Armagnac I own. And hardly a waste on present company." His capacious mouth curled in a fond smile.

Will just shook his head as he brought his mug back to his lips. The moment came to rest, and Will could feel his mind fizzing with cheap alcohol as they discussed the finer things in life. Maybe it was the rum, but for a moment, he could see himself truly occupying a place like this. Not just passing through, or as an invited guest, but having a home in a space like Hannibal's. He'd never imagined or hoped for such a thing, or for a companion as refined as Hannibal… but it wasn't really the refinement that drew him. It was the sharpness. The lack of kid gloves. Just as Will could imagine the taste and vapor of the Armagnac biting at the back of his throat, Hannibal, while never malicious, also never shied from his own teeth in conversation. 

Will could get used to this...

"I really should replace your crock pot. It's in such dreadful shape." Hannibal mused.

Will just lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. "Still works. You're probably the first person to ever see it besides me." he replied, feeling himself crashing back to earth from his buoyant daydreaming.

"At least let me get you something that isn't in such a ghastly floral pattern. I indulged you in your culinary adventures, after all." Hannibal pointed out.

"You said you enjoyed it."

"And so you might find you will enjoy indulging me just as much."

The words laid as heavily on Will's mind as the wet snow lay on the windowpane. But he let himself smile at the thought. Maybe it was just that it was Christmas. With the warmth of the fire enveloping him, and the pleasant feeling of being stuffed to the gills on rich food. Or maybe it was just the extra shot of rum in his boiled custard. But Will found himself smiling up at Hannibal, their faces only half-lit by the fire.

"Merry Christmas." he settled for saying.

Hannibal gave one of Will's favorite smiles. The one that never moved his lips, but lit in his eyes like the strike of a match.

"Merry Christmas, Will."


End file.
